


Memento Mori

by AZGirl



Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Family, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:21:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 11,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26074846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AZGirl/pseuds/AZGirl
Summary: Can Tony keep himself and Gibbs from dying?
Comments: 16
Kudos: 50





	1. Nightmare Coming to Life

**Author's Note:**

> Memento Mori is a Latin phrase that literally means "remember you must die". Several dictionaries say that it’s also a “reminder of death or mortality” or “a reminder of human failures or errors”.
> 
> I know that a first person POV is not everyone's favorite, but I hope you'll give the story a chance.

**ooooooo**

**Chapter One: Nightmare Coming to Life**

I’m dreaming. I have to be otherwise this is my worst nightmare coming to life.

Gibbs and I are in a dark, musty warehouse by the train station tracking a suspect. We hear a noise and Gibbs signals for us to split up so we can flank the guy. When I question his decision, stating there would be no one to watch either of our sixes, Gibbs, who was impatient to have the case be over, ‘politely’ insists with a glare that promised retribution.

I follow his order but do so reluctantly. If we were somewhere more secure, I could and would argue my point, but now is definitely not the time. I’m just afraid, and my gut agrees, that we’re walking into a trap without adequate back-up. Our suspect has already killed at least one person, and we have no idea if he has any accomplices.

I understand Gibbs’s impatience; Jackson is coming to visit today for a long weekend, and the boss is really looking forward to spending time with his dad. I feel a twinge of jealousy over that. My dad just calls or shows up whenever it suits him or he needs something from me, but never simply to visit me. Knowing this is definitely neither the time nor the place, I push the angry, jealous feelings aside and continue my search of the warehouse.

So far there’s no sign of the suspect our tip said was holed up in this ancient-looking place, and no additional noises have been made or heard since that first one. Right now the sound of my breathing is loud compared to the near silence of my surroundings. From outside, I can hear the very faint sounds of a train in the distance. 

Suddenly, the silence is broken by two gunshots in quick succession from a gun that is definitely not Gibbs’s SIG. Then, in answer, there are three evenly spaced gunshots from a SIG – probably Gibbs’s. I release the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. If Gibbs can return fire, then he’s still reasonably alright – for now.

I hightail it towards the sounds of the gunfire. As I’m running back towards where I last saw Gibbs, I hear more gunshots. This time, besides Gibbs’s SIG, I hear the sound of two, possibly three, weapons echo across the warehouse.

I knew it was a bad idea to split up! Why didn’t Gibbs’s gut warn him of the impending danger? Was it because he was so impatient to have this case over and done with? Distracted by the thought of his dad visiting?

Earlier today I thought I’d heard Gibbs talking to his dad on the phone – something about picking him up? Gibbs is always a little off, a little bit different when his dad is in town. Maybe that’s why he didn’t pay attention to his gut warning him of the danger he – _we_ – are now in.

I finally approach the area where I thought I’d heard the gunfire come from. From my vantage point behind some crates, I can see Gibbs is using several other smaller crates as cover. Unfortunately, my cover is preventing me from getting eyes on our attackers.

I see Gibbs glance in my direction, and we lock eyes for a moment before gunfire erupts once again. Gibbs ducks the first volley, but then as he stands up to return fire, I hear a gunshot just before seeing Gibbs’s head snap back and to the right.

_No!_ A voice in my head screams as I watch my worst nightmare play out before my eyes.

Gibbs has been hit in the head… _O God. No. He can’t be_ …

_Not like Kate! Please not like Kate_ …

Suddenly, all rational thought leaves my brain, and I break cover to run towards Gibbs’s fallen body. I hear gunfire and as I run, I return fire, feeling nothing but my adrenaline flowing as I make it to Gibbs.

Out of breath, I crouch behind the crates for a moment, staring at Gibbs’s crumpled form. I’m afraid to touch him, dreading having to see the damage done to my mentor and friend. I’m also hoping beyond hope he is somehow still alive.

From somewhere ahead and to the left of my position I hear someone curse, so I’m pretty certain I hit one of the bad guys, but I still don’t know how many of them there are in total.

And, right this minute, I don’t really care, because all I can think right now is Gibbs needs me – even if he may be…

I roughly shake my head to dispel my morose assumption. First things first, I need to get Gibbs back behind cover. As he fell, part of his body landed out in the open leaving him lying directly in the line of fire should the bad guys choose to shoot at a man already down.

Gibbs is lying on his right side with his arm outstretched and still holding his weapon. I grab his legs and pull Gibbs back behind cover just as more gunfire erupts around me. Multiple rounds hit the crates and cause splinters to fly out, one of them digging into my left cheek. I can feel a trickle of blood running down my face, but I ignore it. I make sure to secure his weapon as back-up in case of a prolonged attack, but as I do so my eyes fall upon the pool of blood slowly spreading from underneath Gibbs’s head.

Spreading? Dean men can’t bleed, can they?

I reach down and check the pulse point at his neck then put my hand in front of his nose. Sighing in relief at finding both a pulse and signs of breathing, I carefully reposition Gibbs so that I can better take care of his injury.

Reaching into Gibbs’s pocket, I find the handkerchief I’d hoped he was carrying as usual and press it to the wound on his forehead. Lifting it after a minute, I can finally see that it’s not a penetrating head wound, but a deep graze along the right side of his forehead.

So, at best, a severe concussion and, at worst, it’s the head wound the doctors warned us about the last time he was in a coma. I pray it’s the former situation as I replace the handkerchief on the wound and apply pressure to stop the bleeding.

After a few minutes, I realize there’s been no gunfire since I made my mad dash to Gibbs. Either the perps have left or they’re lying in wait hoping to pick me off as well.

My lower back begins to ache at the way I’ve been crouching so I shift positions, but the ache remains and I can feel something trickling down my back. I tentatively reach behind me and discover a bullet graze along my lower back, but there’s not much I can do about it now, so I ignore the pain and focus on Gibbs.

Right now protecting Gibbs, and keeping him alive, is my top priority. My comfort is secondary – tertiary? Whatever. Way down on the list in comparison.

Finally, my thoughts clear enough to remind me of my phone. I dig it out of my pocket, but clench my teeth in frustration for the lack of cell phone reception.

Would a text be able to get through? I quickly text “SOS. Under fire. G needs Dr. ASAP” and the warehouse’s address in a group text to McGee, Ziva, Abby, Palmer, and Ducky in hopes one of them will get the message in time to send back-up as well as an ambulance.

I lift the cloth from Gibbs’s wound and see the bleeding has finally stopped. Striping my coat off, I cover Gibbs’s upper torso with it to help prevent against any shock that might be trying to set in due to the blood loss. There’s not much else I can do but defend our position and wait for backup to arrive – if it arrives.

Can Gibbs wait that long? He’s had two severe head traumas in his life – could this bullet to the head be the one that kills him? I’d never forgive myself if I was too late in getting him help.

A minute or so later, I hear what sounds like a door opening and closing from my almost completely unprotected rear position. Reinforcements? Already?

Shaking my head at that unlikelihood, I get ready to defend myself and Gibbs against the new threat. Oddly enough, I swear I hear only one maybe two sets of feet slowly shuffling along, coming closer, before I hear a voice softly call out:

“Leroy?”

ooooooo

_Next time:_ Chapter Two: Meanwhile


	2. Meanwhile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the only chapter not written in first person!

**Chapter Two: Meanwhile**

_Meanwhile, less than an hour ago…_

Jackson Gibbs is sitting in the window seat as his train makes its second to last stop before reaching his final destination. Looking at his watch, he sees that the train is still on schedule and hopes his son will be there to pick him up, though he has little doubt Leroy won’t be on time.

He stands, intending on stretching his legs, but as he does, he catches a glimpse of two men he thinks might be Leroy and that agent of his, Tony, getting out of a haphazardly parked car. As they hurry past the train and head towards some warehouses nearby the station, he confirms their identities.

Thinking he would surprise his son, and avoid the rest of the boring train ride, he grabs his bag and steps off the train, heading towards the car he’d seen the two arrive in. The train leaves the station a few minutes later, and he wonders briefly if he shouldn’t still be on it. At least he had a guaranteed ride on the train, and there was no telling how long he would have to wait.

Growing impatient, he pulls out his cell to let Leroy know where he currently was when he hears the faint sound of gunfire coming from the direction of the old, previously thought abandoned warehouses. Knowing without a doubt his son was in danger, he disregards all thoughts of his own safety to go and check on his son and his son’s friend.

Hurrying as fast as he can towards the warehouse, he hears several more exchanges of gunfire. A very bad feeling suddenly deposits itself in the bottom of his stomach, and he just knows his son has been hurt.

Dialing 9-1-1, he tells the dispatcher that two NCIS agents are under fire and that they need back-up and an ambulance ASAP! The dispatcher asks for more information, so he gives her his son and Tony’s names before describing the situation he’s found himself in. Worried for his son, he hangs up after telling her to be sure to contact NCIS, then continues toward the warehouse he’s determined the gunfight is going on in.

Not having heard any gunfire for a while now, and hoping he was wrong about his son being injured, he decides to enter the building. _Surely, Leroy and Tony have apprehended their suspects by now_ , he thinks.

Finding the door, he steps through and begins walking towards the center of the large room aided by light from the skylight above. Only seeing several stacks of crates and not his son, he softly calls out, “Leroy?” just before all hell breaks loose.

ooooooo

 _Next time:_ Chapter Three: All Hell Breaks Loose


	3. All Hell Breaks Loose

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Three: All Hell Breaks Loose**

For a split second, I think I’m going insane when I hear the voice of Gibbs’s father, but apparently the bad guys have heard it too, because suddenly all hell breaks loose and a barrage of bullets is heading towards my side of the warehouse.

Mentally freaking out at the idea of Jack being killed, I recklessly return fire. A pained grunt reaches my ears, and I know I’ve hit another of our attackers. The gunfire ceases, making me wonder if I’ve gotten them all.

From behind me, I hear footsteps, and gun still pointing towards the enemies’ direction, I call out, “Jack?”

In answer Jack shakily says, “Yeah. It’s me.”

I turn to make sure he’s alright, but out of the corner of my eye I see the man Gibbs and I had been hoping to catch take aim at Jack.

I stand and yell, “Get down!” just as each of us fires at the other.

Fortunately, my bullets hit their intended target, and our suspect drops dead to the ground.

Unfortunately though, one of his bullets manages to catch me high in the chest. I stumble back in shock before dropping to my knees.

Jack catches me and prevents me from dropping the rest of the way to the ground. Opening my eyes, I can see Jackson’s been wounded too. It’s only a graze to his arm, but the moment he stepped into this damned warehouse, I was responsible for his safety and I failed to completely protect him.

_Gibbs is going to kill me for getting his father shot_ , I think to myself as Jack gently lowers me the rest of the way to the ground. Lying there, pain floods my senses, and yet it feels like my life is draining away onto the concrete below me. Given the location of the wound, the realization hits me that it’s most likely fatal if I don’t immediately get help.

_I guess Gibbs won’t be killing me after all; our suspect’s bullet has done it for him_.

If only Gibbs’s impatience hadn’t prevented us from putting on our vests. Gibbs is going to blame himself for my death when it’s partially my fault too. I should have insisted on getting back-up, on putting on vests, but none of that matters anymore.

I have to hang on as long as possible despite the darkness that’s encroaching at the edges of my vision. There are things I need to tell Jack to pass on to Gibbs. My pain spikes, making me groan when Jackson futilely applies pressure to my rapidly bleeding wound. 

“J—Jack. Jack,” I groan out. “Ssstop. You need to get ou—out outside. Call 9-…1-1.”

“I already did son.”

I’m having trouble catching my breath, but I manage to keep talking.

“Guh—good. Gibbs t-t-took bull-bullet to head-d. Unconsc—Out luh-long time na-now.”

“Save your energy kid. Leroy will be pissed if you die on him.”

The weight on my chest is lifting, I feel lighter, almost…free.

Somehow, after a couple of tries, I succeed in taking another breath.

“Can’-t-t ssstop that na-now. T-t-tell tell him … tell hi-him nuh-not assskk buh-better men-ment-t-tor, frie—nd, fath—”

I’m unable to get out the most important word before my world goes black.

ooooooo

_Next time:_ Chapter Four: Prefer Being Alive


	4. Prefer Being Alive

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Four: Prefer Being Alive**

I’m awake. I have to be otherwise I’m dead – and I much prefer being alive.

Breathing as if I just finished a marathon, I finally take notice of my surroundings. I’m sitting up in bed in my pitch-black bedroom covered in sweat.

I try to calm my breathing as the all too real images from my dream replay themselves in vibrant Technicolor. The whole scenario seems so implausible, yet it felt like I was really there.

That Gibbs really got hurt. That Jackson somehow was there. And that I – died.

Yet, I’m alive and reality is telling another story entirely.

Suddenly a wave of nausea hits me, and I throw back the covers in order to make a dash to the bathroom. Flushing the toilet after seemingly getting rid of all the food I’ve eaten in the last three days, I look at myself in the mirror.

There’s no wound on my face, even though I keep thinking there should be one.

_It was just a dream_ , I think, though it feels like I’m trying to convince myself.

I fill the glass sitting on top of my sink with water and take a sip before swishing it around in my mouth and spitting it out. To make sure the water will stay down and not decide to make a return trip anytime soon, I slowly, cautiously drink the rest of the glass.

Now that I’ve been awake for a few minutes, the intense sensations and emotions brought up by the dream have had a chance to fade a little.

Feeling less shaky now, I turn out the bathroom light and head back to bed. On the way, I shed my damp shirt and grab another from my dresser to put on.

Once I’m back under the covers, I can’t help replaying over and over some of the events from my dream. So many things went wrong, and I feel responsible for not keeping Gibbs in check like my job description says I’m supposed to. Even though I know it was a dream, I can’t help but feel like I failed Gibbs by not watching his six.

In trying to get back to sleep, I find I have to keep reminding myself that it was just a very vivid, very intense, extremely realistic dream – and nothing more. But, each time, my gut protests a little in response to that line of thought.

My nightmare keeps replaying in my head, and I’m finding it impossible to calm my mind enough to get back to sleep. Eventually, I give up trying and decide to get ready for work. Maybe I can find a lead on our case so we can wrap it up and actually have the long weekend we were promised this weekend.

The only thing keeping this case open was our inability to find our other perpetrator, Scott Williams, and where he’d gone to ground. We managed to catch up with his partner, Lt. Cmdr. Alex Stevens who had used his inside information to plan and execute several burglaries with his old high school friend. However, after an intense foot chase, Stevens decided a bullet to the head was better than prison and a dishonorable discharge.

That left Williams. We have a BOLO out on him, but apparently there have been no hits or I would’ve been dragged out of bed long before now. Because of my dream though, I start wondering if Stevens and Williams might have another partner or maybe some hired thugs working with them. Rationally, I know that Williams having other men with him in that warehouse was part of a nightmare scenario, but it wouldn’t hurt to check out the possibility. Would it?

I get to the office almost two hours earlier than my normal, but from the coffee cup sitting on Gibbs’s desk, I know I’m not the first one here this morning. I settle in and decide to spend some time trying to determine if we’ve missed any indications that the theft ring went beyond Stevens and Williams.

Up to now, every electronic record McGee has managed to hack into has said they were the masterminds and only perpetrators of the previous burglaries of all that equipment. A couple of days ago, the case got more intense once the investigation went from burglary to murder when a SP guarding a facility was killed during the last break in. Ballistics eliminated Stevens’ gun as the murder weapon so our murderer, Williams, is still at large.

But that didn’t mean Williams couldn’t have hired some help since then, right?

It could be that he’s thinking he can still get away with what’s he’s done or that he can still pull jobs without inside help from his friend Stevens.

Unless…

Maybe the friends had already started planning their next theft before the team caught up with Stevens.

Yes! That could be it!

The realization there was probably going to be another heist made my spine tingle, but my gut wasn’t really convinced yet. So far Williams was managing to avoid being caught – probably by laying low until he can pull his next, and likely last, job before trying to leave the country.

I need to try to figure out where Williams will try to hit next. I’m nowhere near as proficient on a computer as McGee, but I can definitely hold my own on most occasions. I call up the list of all off-base naval storage units and print it out. Next, I call up the list of materials that have been stolen so far and begin comparing it to what each of the warehouses are currently storing in hopes of finding some sort of pattern that will lead us to—

“You better not be searching for porn on that thing,” a voice says next to my ear.

ooooooo

_Next time:_ Chapter Five: Off Guard


	5. Off Guard

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Five: Off Guard**

I jump at the sound of Gibbs’s voice, practically giving myself whiplash while turning my head towards the man, and notice him smirking at catching me more off guard than normal. It’s not that he doesn’t regularly catch me off guard; it’s just that I usually know when he’s within striking distance.

I must have been concentrating so hard on my task that I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings. If I was out in the field, that kind of laser-like focus and lack of situational awareness could get me into big trouble.

I smile and say, “No porn, Boss. Just following up on a lead.”

Gibbs quirks an eyebrow then nods his head once for me to continue.

“It came to me this morning that Williams might try to pull off one last score before disappearing forever.”

“What makes you think that?”

I pause. What do I say?

_Well, Boss, I had a dream last night in which we had a tip that Williams was holed up in a warehouse, but it ended up being a trap, having been ambushed by him and his two hired thugs. Because of that dream, I’ve taken a gigantic leap in logic to assume he’s going to pull off a final job. And oh, by the way, your dad was there, you were shot in the head, and I died. Fun times._

Instead, I blurt, “A hunch.”

Gibbs gives me this look, and I know he doesn’t believe my answer in the slightest, so I quickly add, “I watched a marathon of action films last night on TV. Two of them had similar plots, which reminded me of this case. The first starred—“

Boss rolls his eyes and says, “Enough. I get it.”

Inwardly I smile, because I knew he would want to drop the topic as soon as I mentioned movies. I watch as Gibbs sits at his desk before looking at me and nodding once.

“Keep at it. Let McGee and Ziva help when they get here.”

“On it Boss.”

I return to my work, but I can feel Gibbs staring at me. I get the feeling he didn’t quite believe my second explanation either, but he at least trusts me enough to know I’m not just wasting my – _our_ – time.

With McGee and Ziva’s help, we narrow down the possibilities to three storage units, including one that had already been hit yet still has items the thieves might be interested in. However, as the afternoon wears on, we frustratingly aren’t able to further eliminate any of the possible targets.

Gibbs is becoming more and more irritated by both our lack of progress and by Williams’ ability to continue evading being found, meaning Boss was living up to the second ‘B’ more than usual. I’m pretty sure the others aren’t aware that Gibbs’s dad is due into town in a few hours, but they were definitely aware Gibbs’s bad mood was getting worse and worse as the odds of us having to work on our weekend off increased.

At 1600 hours, Gibbs slammed his fist on his desk making us all jump. He sighs in frustration before growling out, “Go home. Be in early tomorrow.”

McGee and Ziva, thinking they were being allowed to at least have their Friday night before working all weekend, hightailed it out of the office without comment and as fast as their legs could carry them. Having no plans to speak of, I decide to stay and continue working for a while longer.

Despite all the information we’d gathered about Stevens and Williams, I still felt like I was missing something. Something that would help us either find Williams’ target or the man himself. I lean back in my chair and put my feet up on my desk, thinking back to all of the evidence we’ve gathered so far and wondering if there still aren’t ways to use it to help eliminate at least one of the three possible potential targets from our list.

I glance over at Gibbs to see him hanging up his cell when his office phone rings. He answers on the second ring.

“Yeah, Gibbs. … Where? ... Who called it in? ... No. We’ll look into it.”

His part of the conversation is as succinct as usual and ends with his customary hanging up the phone on whoever he’s talking to. He stands and opens up his drawer to grab his weapon.

“DiNozzo! Got a hit on that BOLO. Grab your gear.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for McGee and Ziva before checking it out?” I ask as I grab my weapon out of my drawer.

“No; the call came in from a kid and might be a prank, but we still need to check it out anyway.”

Once we’re in the car, it occurs to me that I hadn’t yet bothered to ask where we’re going. So I ask, and Gibbs’s answer makes my jaw drop and my stomach bottom out at my feet. I even start to feel a little nauseous, and for once, it wasn’t because of Gibbs’s driving.

I know I’m catching flies with my mouth hanging open in shock like it was, but I just can’t seem to get my mind and body back in sync with each other.

It was a coincidence. It had to be otherwise I was going to die very soon.

ooooooo

_Next time:_ Chapter Six: Coincidence


	6. Coincidence

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Six: Coincidence**

It simply had to be a very freaky, very unnerving coincidence, and yet, like Gibbs, I don’t really believe in coincidences.

Maybe I came across some random bits of information about the case yesterday and my subconscious brought them together in my nightmare. There is no other way it could be the same warehouse.

Gibbs’s voice finally snaps me back to reality, and I’m able to pull myself back together.

“Sorry. What did you say, Boss?” I ask before cringing, knowing Gibbs doesn’t like to repeat himself or, for that matter, apologies.

He must have noticed my reaction to where we’re going, so I quickly stumble out what I hope is an appropriate answer to whatever he might have said.

“I uh – I think I know that place.”

“From where?”

I decide to be vague, thinking no good could come from the truth. “I’m not sure.”

“Something from the evidence?”

“Possibly,” I reply, not quite ready to accept that my recognition of the place had come from a dream.

I fervently pray he’ll drop it, and he does to a degree, but not completely if the sharp turn of the car, which throws me into the door coupled with the sarcastic, “You let me know when you remember,” is any indication.

What could I have said to make that last few minutes go any better? Just because the location looked similar to the one from my dream, it didn’t mean that it actually was the same or that the situation would end the same way – with Gibbs shot and me…

Only time would tell whether or not last night’s dream would become today’s nightmare.

It is just after 1630 hours when we arrive at the train station’s parking lot. The second we get close enough for me to see the place, my gut screams at me to not go any farther – to not go into the warehouse that I could see just beyond the train tracks without backup.

As Gibbs haphazardly parks the car, a train is just coming to a stop at the station. Was Jack was onboard like he was on the one from my dream?

I’ve never been here before, yet this place looks exactly like how it appeared in my dreamscape. I can’t help but begin to entertain the crazy notion my dream was somehow some sort of premonition of things to come.

Was that even possible?

A thump to the car’s roof startles me out of my musings, and I realize Gibbs is already out of the car waiting for me. I quickly get out and was about to check my weapon, when Gibbs growls out, “Get moving, DiNozzo.”

He stalks off without waiting for an answer, but every fiber of my being is telling me to heed the warnings from my dream – to not make the same mistakes over again.

Before Gibbs can get too far away from the car, I yell, “Boss you forgot your vest!”

I move towards the trunk of the car, hoping he’ll see the wisdom in my precaution. He stops and turns around. The glare I receive from Gibbs’s eyes is at maximum strength, and I’m half surprised it hasn’t already caused me to burst into flames and reduce me to ashes. The urge to back down is strong, but I stand my ground instead. Bad tip, prank, or whatever, we shouldn’t go into a potentially dangerous situation not only without backup but without adequate protection as well.

Gibbs realizes I’m not going to back down from ‘The Glare’ and his strides towards me bring us face-to-face in seconds. It’s part of my job description to protect him whether he likes or not, but selfishly I want to protect myself as well.

Trying to reason with him, I say, “I know you don’t want to start your time with your father on a bad note by being late to pick him up. The tip might be bogus, but that does not mean we shouldn’t take at least some precautions. Perhaps call for back-up.”

It’s funny how you can say something, and in your head it _sounds_ perfectly fine… 

I mentally cringe like I’ve never mentally cringed before. I not only just challenged Gibbs’s authority, but I go ahead and do it with him standing well within prime head slapping range.

Gibbs’s eyes narrow, and he takes another step closer so that we’re now practically nose to nose. A vague image of Senior giving my eulogy crosses my mind as I prepare to be head-slapped to death, but a familiar voice from behind Gibbs says:

“Leroy?”

ooooooo

_Next time:_ Chapter Seven: About Face


	7. About Face

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Seven: About Face**

Gibbs, surprised by the voice from behind him, executes a perfect ‘about face’ and says, “Dad? What are you doing here?”

“You mean you aren’t here to pick me up early as a surprise?”

“No. We’re here on a case. Dad you need to get back on the train. I’ll pick you up as planned at the terminal.”

“But son,” Jackson begins before the train whistles and starts to depart without him and his luggage.

All three of us watch in silence as the train leaves, but knowing the Boss, I think he is probably cursing a blue streak inside his head.

In some ways, I feel as though I’ve gone down the rabbit hole and have just entered Wonderland. Events were happening just as they had in my dream – until Jack showed up at the wrong place and in the wrong time. Perhaps my dream really was a dream and not some sort of prophetic warning.

If it was prophetic, then wouldn’t Gibbs’s dad have shown up later inside the warehouse and not here in this parking lot?

Or…by taking the time to insist on wearing our bullet proof vests, have I allowed Jackson the time to catch up to us before we enter the warehouse? Does this mean I can change things for the better?

Can I keep Gibbs from getting hurt this time? Will I still die?

Once the train is too far away to really see properly anymore, Gibbs yells, “DiNozzo!”

“Suitcase in the trunk. On it, Boss. Keys?”

Gibbs tosses them towards me, and I use the remote to unlock the car doors and unlatch the trunk. Running into Jackson here, or rather Jackson running into us, has provided the perfect opportunity to retrieve our vests.

Things may have changed and be different now, but I’m still not going to take any chances. As I’m hefting the suitcase into the trunk, an idea pops into my head on how I can right another wrong from my nightmare.

Closing the trunk, I can hear Gibbs pleading with his father to stay in the car no matter what. Jack seems a little irritated at Gibbs’s tone of voice, but he acquiesces to the request. Gibbs then shuts the car door and starts to walk past me.

I hold up a vest in his path, and he roughly snatches if from my hand. With another ash-inducing glare, he turns his back to me and starts to take off his overcoat and sport coat in order to put the vest on.

I use the opportunity presented to move towards where Gibbs’s dad is sitting in the car to plead with him.

“Hey Jack.”

“Tony.”

“I know this is going to sound incredibly bizarre right now, but I’m begging you to stay in the car when you hear the gunshots. I know your first instinct will be to want to help, but please, _please_ don’t follow us.”

“Gunshots?! Leroy said you were just following up on a tip?”

“I can’t really explain, but please Jack, trust me and stay with the car.”

He just stares at me for several long seconds, looking for something, though I’m not sure what. I resume putting my vest on before Gibbs decides to hit me over the head with it.

Finally Jack replies, “I promise. I’ll stay with the car no matter what.”

“Thank you,” I say sincerely before deciding to make my other unusual request. Leaning in closer, I hand Jackson my cell and practically beg him to call McGee and Ziva so they can get backup plus an ambulance here as soon as possible.

“Ambulance?” he asks looking worried.

“For the bad guys,” I reply and smirk, hoping I sounded even half-way convincing there was nothing to worry about.

I finish putting my overcoat back on before pleading with him once more.

“Please Jack,” I begin, “Call as soon as we leave you here.”

He nods before his gaze moves to a point just over my shoulder, telling me Gibbs is right behind me.

“Happy?” he sarcastically says, gesturing to the bullet proof vest he’s wearing as I turn around.

“Ecstatic,” I reply in an equally sarcastic tone.

He head slaps me with a little more force than normal and starts heading toward the warehouse.

Rubbing the back of my head, I follow along at his six hoping Jack will keep his promises. I know a vest won’t stop a bullet to the head, but since I’ve already seemingly managed to change one aspect of my dream, I have no idea what else will be different from now on – or if we’re both still doomed to get up close and personal with a bullet.

ooooooo

_Next time:_ Chapter Eight: Just Like


	8. Just Like

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Eight: Just Like**

We draw our weapons as we approach the main entrance of the warehouse. Once inside, my heart speeds up more than a little when I realized just how similar everything looked and smelled compared to my dream.

We’re doing a general sweep of the place when we hear a noise – and even that sounds the same. Maybe the cycle can’t be broken, or maybe what’s about to happen is just meant to happen. Maybe today _is_ a great day to die.

Gibbs signals for us to split up; I start to protest, but I can tell he’s had enough of my supposed insubordination this afternoon and will not be swayed. My gut, my head, every part of me is protesting, insisting this situation was a trap waiting to be sprung, but I can do nothing about it. I have to follow Boss’s orders otherwise he might never again trust me out in the field.

My dream is coming to life, and I feel like there is nothing I can do to stop it. I have to continually fight the anxiety that wants to overwhelm me.

There’s no sign of Williams this time either, but I’m positive he’s out there and that he has help. My heart is beating so fast and so loud in my chest, that I’m half-way convinced the sound is giving my position away.

Internally, I’m fighting with myself over whether or not to go meet up with Gibbs despite his order, when suddenly I hear two gunshots in quick succession.

_O God, it’s starting,_ I think as I hear three evenly spaced shots in answer.

Gibbs’s gun. If everything is still happening as it did in my dream, then at least I know he’s okay – for now.

I begin heading towards where I think I heard Gibbs’s gunfire coming from, when I stop in my tracks. If everything is occurring just like it did in my nightmare – and so far, it was – then theoretically I know exactly where the perps are hiding this very moment. Perhaps if I go around to their rear flank, I can catch the bad guys off guard and change history. Maybe this time, I can prevent Gibbs from getting hurt.

As I’m running towards where I’m sure the suspects are positioned, I hear more gunfire. From my closer position to the bad guys and the weapons fire, I’m positive there are only three shooters. I reach a stack of large crates and peer around them. Williams and his two cohorts are crouched down behind some more crates nearby, but my hiding place is preventing me from getting eyes on Gibbs.

Dread suddenly fills me as I recall what happened next in my now obviously prophetic nightmare. This next round of gunfire is when Gibbs takes the hit to his head. I hesitate in making a decision a fraction of a second too long as the bad guys fire in Gibbs’s direction before I can make a move.

Out of the corner of my eye, as I step out from behind my cover to fire at them, I see Gibbs stand to return fire at the same time one of Williams’ men fires at Gibbs. “No!” I yell as Gibbs’s head snaps back and he begins to fall. _I’m too late_ , I think as Gibbs’s shooter then turns to fire at me.

I return fire and hit the shooter in the chest before ducking back behind my cover as the other two men start sending bullets my way. I curse myself for hesitating and being too late, for not being good or smart enough, and for not protecting Gibbs – again.

I was so convinced I could change things, could prevent Gibbs from being injured; instead, it happened all over again. Yet, this time, Gibbs is not only wounded but alone – out in the open, bleeding and vulnerable to further attack. I can only hope I’m providing enough of a distraction to keep the bad guys from even thinking about finishing Gibbs off. And, if I’m very lucky, they think he’s dead.

I spy another set of crates farther down, which I hope will provide me with a better angle of fire at Williams and his remaining henchman. Without really considering my safety, and only thinking about Gibbs being injured and alone, I make a mad dash for what hopefully will be a better vantage point.

I make it there, but not before I feel something bite at my arm. More bullets hit the crates, causing splinters to fly out and dig into my right cheek. I can feel a trickle of blood running down my face and oddly enough my arm, but I ignore the sensations.

Apparently, some events from my dream can’t be prevented, but they seemingly can be slightly altered, like which cheek was hurt by flying bits of crate.

I risk taking a look from behind my new cover, and seeing an opening, I fire and manage to clip the other henchman’s side. Williams curses, and given the lack of bullets flying my direction, I imagine the man is trying to weigh the pros and cons of continuing to fight versus surrendering. Not wanting to delay getting Gibbs some help, I decide to help him come to the right conclusion.

“NCIS, Federal Agents! Give it up Williams, you’re surrounded! You’re only going to end up like your nameless thugs if you don’t give yourself up right now!”

It’s silent for a few moments before Williams yells a reply, “Alright! I’m coming out! Don’t shoot!”

“Carefully put down your weapon and kick it towards me!” I demand as I start to come out from behind my cover.

Events from my dream decide to rear their ugly head once again when I hear the door to the warehouse open. Thinking of Gibbs’s vulnerable position, I’m momentarily distracted. Williams takes advantage, and gun still in hand, straightens up to fire on me. I notice the movement just a half second too late, but still manage to fire at the same time.

Like last time, my bullets fortunately hit their intended target and drop Williams to the ground. Hopefully, he’s dead this time around too. Unfortunately for me, his bullets manage to hit me in the dead center of my chest.

The impact feels like what I imagine it’s like to be kicked in the chest by an angry mule. It causes me to fly backward and fall hard to the ground, my head hitting a millisecond or two later. I hear garbled yelling but can’t make out what’s being said over the buzzing in my ears.

I try to take a breath, but can’t and begin to panic a little when my vision starts to fade. The yelling is closer now, and I think I hear my name, but I can’t respond.

The last major event from my nightmare is becoming reality.

I’m dying again, and I can only hope Gibbs will be alright as my vision fades to black and I know no more.

ooooooo

_Next time:_ Chapter Nine: Hearing


	9. Hearing

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Nine: Hearing**

One of those random facts I’ve learned over the years is that a person in a coma is able to hear their friends and loved ones speaking to them. That hearing is the last sense to go and the first to return.

I never really believed it until…

“Tony? Come on, son. You’ve been sleeping long enough.”

The voice sounds familiar, but my mostly asleep, likely concussed brain feels as if it’s being attacked by a whole platoon of men with sledgehammers and I can’t quite place it. I hear the voice again, but it’s from farther away, and I get the impression it’s not directed towards me this time.

“I’m telling you Leroy, I swear I saw the kid move, but I guess I was wrong.”

“It’s okay, Dad. He’ll wake when he’s ready.”

_Leroy? Who names their kid Leroy?!_

“—so calm about this?”

_Hmm… Must have missed part of that last bit._ I try again to focus on listening to the voices.

“Don’t really have a choice.”

“Of course you have a choice, son! That’s your boy lying wounded in the other bed. The least you could do is be concerned for his well-being! Be worried over the fact that Tony’s been unconscious for almost a day now.”

“Damn it, Dad! Don’t you think I know that! I wake up in here not being able to remember anything that happened to me since yesterday morning—“

Not remember anything! That’s bad. That’s very, very bad, and I’m not exactly sure why. The voices are fading in and out now, and I can only hear bits and pieces over my growing panic.

“—my senior field agent — injured — bed beside me!”

“—me like that —thro Gibbs!”

_Gibbs!_

No. Please, God – no. Gibbs has lost his memory again?!

I won’t… I can’t… I don’t think I can go through that again. Not again.

I’m in full-blown panic mode now and my chest is lit up with pain.

I can’t…

I can’t…breathe…

I hear some garbled yelling before suddenly feeling a warm hand on my shoulder followed by a light tap on the top of my head.

Gibbs.

“—calm down! You’re alright. Yo—“

But I’m not alright.

“—hurting yourself!”

I can’t be if Gibbs doesn’t remember me anymore…

“— me, Gibbs. I’m fine! I—“

…if he leaves again.

In the next moment, a coolness spreads up my arm and the voices begin to fade.

The last thing I hear before everything completely fades away is:

“Not going anywhere, DiNozzo.”

ooooooo

_Next time:_ Chapter Ten: Not Alone


	10. Not Alone

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Ten: Not Alone**

One second I’m trapped in a black void alone, but somehow not alone, even though I can’t see anyone else nearby, and the next…

“Leroy, the doctor said you need to get rest too. A bullet scrape to the forehead with a concussion is not something you should mess around with.”

“I am resting, Dad. All I’ve being doing today is sitting – _resting_ – in this damn chair.”

“That’s not what the doctor meant, and you know it! Just… Will you please go lie down for an hour or two? I’ll stay with Tony.”

“I’m not leaving him again.”

“You’re not going to be leaving him. You’ll be right there in the next bed resting and hopefully sleeping.”

“Not now, Dad.” _Wow. Gibbs sounds really tired._ “Tony needs me.”

“Needs you?! He’s unconscious and won’t know the difference!”

_Jack, Gibbs always knows what his team needs – what I need._

“He’ll know,” I hear Gibbs say with confidence before feeling a hand squeeze mine.

_Glad you’re here, Boss_.

“Fine, Leroy. But how is Tony going to feel when he wakes up and sees you’re hurting yourself—“

_Gibbs hurt?_ _Please, no…_

Bizarre multi-angled images suddenly flash in my mind of Gibbs taking a bullet to the head and falling.

My hand squeezes the one holding mine in a panicked reflex. It squeezes back as I hear Gibbs’s voice calling to me.

“DiNozzo! Tony! You with me?”

Once again, I try to open my eyes, but they feel as if they’ve been glued shut and would need some sort of superhuman assistance to succeed. The hand holding mine begins to let go, but I use what little strength I can muster to hold on to it.

Nearby, Gibbs says, “He won’t let go, Doc.”

“That’s fine, Agent Gibbs,” a stranger’s voice replies. “You can stay. Mr. DiNozzo is still a little bit disoriented as he wakes and is clinging to what, or rather who, he recognizes.

“Try talking to him some more. Perhaps you can help him the rest of the way back.”

_Asking the functional mute to talk? That’s kinda funny…_

“Tony? Can you hear me? You’re in the hospital. You need to open your eyes now.”

Gibbs sighs, and I struggle to do as he asks, but I still can’t quite get my eyes or, for that matter, the rest of me to cooperate.

“Tony? I know you can do it… Open. Your. Eyes.”

_I’m trying, Boss…_

“Doc, it’s not working.”

“Agent Gibbs, it _is_ working. Trust me. He’s almost completely back with us. Just keep talking.”

“OK, Doc,” Gibbs says sounding unsure of himself, “Talking’s not really my thing, but I’d do anything for him.”

“Tony… I may not remember everything that happened the other day, but I do know one thing for sure: You did a heck of a job, Anthony. You insisted on our bulletproof vests and had my Dad call for back-up and an ambulance. I apparently was in a rush to get us killed that day, but you kept us alive _and_ you managed to take out all three of the bad guys by yourself. I’m so proud of you and of the agent you’ve become. I don’t think I could do this job without you…”

It pops into my head that this is probably the most Gibbs has ever praised me in one sitting in all the years I’ve known him. I don’t want it to stop, but the fact that he’s being so nice is worrying me.

_Maybe I am going to die after all_.

“Hey! You’re not dying!”

_Huh. I must have said that last bit out loud._

“Yes, you did.”

_And that bit too._

“Open your damn eyes, DiNozzo!”

That command combined with that particular tone of voice is all it takes. My eyes pop open, but they immediately slam shut because the bright light in the room is searing into my eyeballs, sending shooting pain straight into my brain.

A hand squeezes mine as I hear Gibbs say, “Lights, Doc. They’re too bright for him.”

I hear what sounds like light switches being flicked before Gibbs gently orders, “Try again. Open your eyes.”

And I do.

There’s barely any light on in the room, which my brain is extremely grateful for, but in the semi-dark I still manage to recognize the shape next to my bed.

“Bo-osss,” I rasp out. “OK?”

“I’m fine. It’s you—“

I shake my head a little before realizing the movement hurts far too much. “No. No. Gun. Head. See hurt.”

Gibbs chuckles and lays his free hand on my shoulder.

“It was just a graze. Moderate concussion. I’m fine, or will be once we’re both out of here.”

A shadow moves closer, and a voice I recognize from earlier says, “Mr. DiNozzo, I’m Doctor Park.” I turn my head very carefully towards the doctor. “Gibbs is telling you the truth. It’s just a concussion, and with _rest_ , he’ll be fine in no time. Your head hit the unyielding concrete of that warehouse with a little too much force than is good for you, so it’s you we’ve all been worried about.

“In a little while, I’m going to take you down for some tests. Gibbs is going to lie down and rest so he can get better and be able to stay by your side when you come back.”

My eyes are feeling heavy, and I’m losing the battle to stay awake as I hear something about my need for sleep being normal.

As my eyes, and body, surrender to exhaustion, Gibbs says, “You’re going to be fine, Tony.”

With the last bit of awareness I possess, I think or mumble – I don’t really know which:

“Good. Died last time.”

ooooooo

_Next time_ : Chapter Eleven: Awake More


	11. Awake More

ooooooo

Chapter Eleven: Awake More

It was another two days before I am awake more than I am asleep and before the marching band competition playing inside my head begins to fade. Gibbs had been released the day before, but it didn’t really change anything because nearly every time I woke up the older man was there.

Because Gibbs had been practically camping out in the room he’d only recently been a patient in, I was still seeing a lot of Jack as well. I figured it was the only time Jackson could see his son, especially since the older man was due to go back to Stillwater soon. Of course the two men argued over how much time Gibbs was spending with me instead of getting enough rest or taking better care of himself, which I hated.

During one visit, when I was half asleep, I thought I heard Gibbs argue that the best way he knew how to take care of himself was to make sure I was getting better and could get back to watching his six ASAP. I didn’t really know what to think of that declaration, but I’m confident Gibbs saw the involuntary smile that broke out on my face as I let myself sink into healing sleep.

By the time Wednesday rolled around, I was chomping at the bit go home, but the doctor wasn’t quite ready to let me leave. 

Since I’d been admitted to the hospital, Gibbs and his father hadn’t been the only ones to visit; I’d seen all of my teammates too. 

Ducky and Palmer were more than happy to explain my injuries to me in plain English, which I really appreciated.

Abby, well I’ve said it before – she really is the happiest Goth you’ll ever meet. Just her presence alone made me feel at least ten times better.

Jackson told me what happened from his point of view. He almost didn’t make the calls I’d insisted upon. It was all the good things Gibbs had told him about me in the past that convinced him I wouldn’t ask for such a favor without a damn good reason.

I tried to wheedle the ‘good things’ Gibbs had said about me out of him, but he just smiled, laughed, and said I’d have to ask Leroy. Like that was ever going to happen.

McGee and Ziva told me their version of the events. Apparently, they saw Williams and me shoot each other just after they’d entered the warehouse. As they finished their account of the events, I realized I had a major problem.

I do recall some of what happened at the warehouse, but the things I remember clearly are a jumble between the dreamscape and what actually happened. Because I asked about Gibbs’s head wound, everyone just assumes I remember everything up to when Gibbs was shot. 

The only thing is, I’m not absolutely positive which version of that event I’m recalling, or if it’s even the correct one. Until my memory fully comes back – if it ever does – I won’t know for certain. Gibbs doesn’t recollect anything past the time he told me to keep looking into my idea that there was going to be another theft, and the bad guys are all dead, so there are no other witnesses to everything that actually happened.

Trying to sort dream from reality has been difficult – and painful. The stress I was putting on myself to figure out what was an actual memory versus a dream event caused me to have the worst migraine headache I’ve ever had in my life. It was so painful; they had to knock me out in order for get me any sort of relief. 

If I thought Gibbs was in protective mode before… I hadn’t yet experienced his true definition of ‘protective’ until that headache from the very deepest pit of hell tried to make me wish I was dead. He kept talking to me, though upon reflection, I have no clue what he said. He could’ve recited all his rules to me for all I know. Regardless of what he said, he kept up a steady stream of dialogue in a soothing tone of voice and he helped me breathe through the immense pain until the drugs could take me away from it. I’ll always be grateful for what he did that night.

Now, days later, I think I’ve got it figured out. Based on all of the accounts, where I was found, and my injuries, I really only remember actual events up to the point sometime just after I entered the warehouse with Gibbs. The alternate reality from my dream is still the clearer of the two for everything after that. 

Having a clear memory of the nightmare version of what went down in that warehouse meant that, if I wasn’t careful, I could mention something that wouldn’t fit in with what really happened. In order to prevent any missteps, I decided to be as vague as possible when asked to recall what happened once we went through that door. I obviously did things differently based on my prior knowledge, but how do I explain the source of that knowledge?

I get the feeling Gibbs is aware I’m holding something back, but he hasn’t yet asked me about it. After the headache incident, Dr. Park provided a way out of my problem by telling me that my not being able to distinctly remember events leading up to my head injury was normal, and that I might never be able to recall the rest of that day.

ooooooo

_Next time:_ Chapter Twelve: Real Life; Chapter Thirteen: Everything That's Happened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please Note** I'll be posting the last two chapters tomorrow.


	12. Real Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters posted today. I hope you've read this one before moving on the last chapter.

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Twelve: Real Life**

I’m dreaming. I have to be otherwise real life can now be seen from two completely different perspectives at the same time.

Pieces of crates fly out to bite first one cheek and then the other. One second I’m running towards Gibbs’s position, the next I’m heading away from it. Jack is there in the warehouse and then he’s not. I see Gibbs’s head snap back from the bullet’s impact from behind him then the view sickeningly rotates and I see it from the front.

Several of the images aren’t quite familiar, but seeing my boss hit multiple times from multiple angles is enough to startle me awake. Breathing hard, and realizing it’s causing me pain, I force myself to slow my breaths and focus on my surroundings.

I’m at Gibbs’s house.

My impatience toward having to stay in the hospital had not gone unnoticed. I was released two days ago on the condition I had someone to stay with, because I still was having dizzy spells that occasionally made me unsteady on my feet. It was decided, or rather, I was told I’d be staying at Gibbs’s house so that Jackson could keep watch over the both of us. I could tell Gibbs was still suffering from lingering headaches, but I figured they would go away pretty quickly once he wasn’t spending all his time at the hospital with me and could finally rest like he was supposed to be doing.

From the quietness of the house, I can tell Jack is still out running errands or perhaps taking a nap. Knowing Gibbs the way I do, there’s really only one place he’d be when forced to stay home from the office.

I take a deep breath – or as deep a breath as I dare with a severely bruised chest – and carefully lever myself into a sitting position while slowly exhaling. Even with a bulletproof vest, it really hurts like hell to get shot in the almost dead center of your chest. I can ignore the discomfort unless I have to get up from lying down or from sitting. Gibbs though always seems to sense when my pain levels are up even when I think I’m hiding it pretty darn well. After glaring at me, he shoves over-the-counter pain medicine into my hands knowing how much I hate prescription pain killers.

I sit still for a couple of minutes in order to guard against any potential dizzy spells before standing. Then, I stay standing next to the couch for at least 30 seconds to a minute just to be safe before heading towards the basement.

I step through the basement door and am about to start down the stairs when a voice from below deadpans:

“Take one more step and you’re fired.”

“Aww. Come on, Boss,” I say practically whining. “I’m bored. Why can’t I come down and hang out with you?”

“Didn’t say you couldn’t,” he quietly retorts while heading up the stairs. Then, sounding like he’s scolding me, he reminds, “You’re still not cleared to use stairs by yourself.”

I sigh and decide not to argue because I’m bored out of my mind just resting on the couch. Gibbs smirks and lightly grabs my right elbow so I can use my left hand to hold the guardrail as we descend the stairs together. As soon as my feet are off the stairs, he lets go and walks back to his workbench.

Pulling out a sawhorse Gibbs sits down then gives the stool he’d been sitting on a pointed look. I almost argue, but my bruised chest has started to complain, and I’m grateful for somewhere to sit. He glares at me, but for once doesn’t produce the non-prescription pain killers.

“What are you working on? Can I help?” I ask even though I’ve proven on more than one occasion that I’m definitely not capable of handling anything more complicated than sanding.

“Was thinking,” Gibbs replies in a way that makes my stomach flutter uncomfortably.

I can pretty much guess what he’s thinking about overall, but somehow my sense of self-preservation fails me and I ask, “Oh yeah. What about?”

He gives me a piercing look and replies, “What did you mean when you said ‘died last time’?”

“What?! I didn’t say that!”

_Did I?_

It’s almost as if I asked that question out loud instead of in my own head. He tilts his head before asking another question, “How did you know?”

“Know what?” I reply in the most innocent sounding voice I can muster.

“Cut the crap, DiNozzo!” Gibbs nearly yells as he stands. “From what I’ve heard about that day, it’s almost as if you knew what was going to happen _before_ it happened. You asked my dad to call for an ambulance before we even needed one! And you wouldn’t let us go near that damned warehouse without our vests!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Boss,” I reply wishing there was some way to avoid this conversation. “I was just doing my job by watching out for your six.”

Gibbs places both his hands on the workbench then leans into them. He looks at me, and then shakes his head in disbelief before bowing his head to his chest. I can just barely hear him murmur, “All these years together, and you still don’t trust me.”

I _do_ trust him – with my life. I do.

It’s just—

“Gibbs, I—“

“No, Tony. Enough,” he quietly orders before raising his head and moving to stand in front of me. Making sure he’s got my full attention, he asks, “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” I answer without hesitation.

Gibbs looks beyond relieved and actually very pleased at my answer. He reaches to grab my uninjured shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

“Then, tell me.”

So, I do.

I tell him every detail from my nightmarish dream, how he was shot in the same way in it, and how I died. Then, I told him how when we arrived at the warehouse that day every single thing looked and smelled the same. And finally, I confessed that I didn’t really remember anything that actually happened from the moment just after we entered that cursed place.

Gibbs patiently sits through the whole explanation without once interrupting me and without revealing what he was really thinking about it. Eventually, I trail off when I reach the point where I couldn’t remember anything more. Gibbs just keeps staring at me, but I can tell he was processing all he’s just learned.

Eventually he says, “So, the only reason you remember this” – he points to the bandage on his forehead – “is because you dreamed it.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Gibbs nods his head slightly in return.

I’m starting to think Gibbs either doesn’t believe me or thinks I’m crazy – or both – when he finally says, “I had a dream like that once.”

ooooooo

_Next time...the end, aka_ Chapter Thirteen: Everything That's Happened.


	13. Everything That's Happened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second chapter posted today. If you've not done so already, you should read Chapter 12 before this one.

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Thirteen: Everything That’s Happened**

That was the very last thing I expected Gibbs to say after everything that’s happened recently.

“You did,” I say not entirely believing him and thinking he’s just trying to humor me.

He nods, looking as if he’s actually thinking back to that time. After a couple of moments, he refocuses on the here and now and confirms, “I did.”

Gibbs nods as if making a decision and leans an elbow on his workbench presumably to get more comfortable.

“It’s been,” he pauses and gets this unidentifiable look on his face, “Heck, I don’t know how long anymore. Anyway, one night I have this really intense, really vivid dream.

“In it I’ve gone alone to question a witness related to the death of a Marine. I hear noises coming from inside the house which sound like a man and woman arguing. The woman suddenly bursts through the door, sees me, and warns the man inside that I’m a cop.

“Next thing I know bullets are ripping through the front door, which thankfully miss me. They suddenly stop, and I hear someone running away through the house towards the back. I follow after, nearly getting run over by a car in my pursuit, and then the perp stops, grabbing a female bystander to use as a shield.

“He threatens to shoot her if I don’t back off. I can’t get a clear shot of the guy without hurting the woman, so I start to back off and lower my weapon. He then pushes her away into my line of fire and shoots me twice before I can fire my own weapon in return.

“I’d gone in without a vest and both his bullets hit me in the chest. I fall to my knees and can’t really breathe too well, or at all, now that I think back on it. Then, as I’m falling to the ground, everything suddenly goes black and I wake up.”

Gibbs pauses, and all I can think is, _Wow_.

He looks at me and nods as if to say, ‘I know,’ before continuing.

“There’s more,” he begins before moving his elbow off the bench and placing his hands in his lap. He looks down at them before continuing his story.

“The next day, my team is called out to a city not too far from here to work a case involving two dead, one a Marine Corporal. I’m ordered to share jurisdiction with the local LEOs and am paired with this annoying, cocky, young detective.

“Normally, I just intimidate them into backing down, so that they’re basically just a glorified gopher barely involved in the actual investigation. But, this kid…”

Gibbs trails off chuckling at the memories his story is bringing up. He smiles and shakes his head then continues, “This kid though won’t be intimidated and insists on full involvement in the case. Impressed by his determination, and by some of his insights into the case, I decide to let him have more involvement than I had ever previously let a LEO have in one of my cases.

“The next day, we find evidence that there is another possible witness to the murders. I order the detective to keep looking into our victims’ lives, but he insists on going with me instead. I had no intention at the time of changing my mind, but just then I have a sudden instant replay of the part of my dream where I get shot and my gut twists painfully.

“Meanwhile, the young detective is rambling on and on about why he should be going with me. I just can’t take it anymore, so I give in and oddly enough my gut relaxes. It was the second time in two days that I let a local LEO get his way in one of my investigations!”

I chuckle because I can tell Gibbs is still really annoyed by that fact even to this day. He glares at me, and I make sure to immediately wipe all traces of the laughter off my face. While I’ve been listening to Gibbs’s story, I keep feeling like I’ve heard some version of it before, but without details I can’t be sure. Another glare to not interrupt is sent my way before Gibbs resumes his tale.

“When we arrive at the witness’s house, I’m shocked to see it looks exactly the same as from my dream even down to the landscaping. The detective and I get out of the car, and as we approach I can hear the house’s occupants arguing and every single word, every noise is exactly as my dream had been.

“Suddenly, the woman from my dream bursts through the front door. When she sees us, she yells, ‘Cops!’ A moment later, bullets are coming at us through the front door, and the kid catches one in his arm, which propels him backward over the porch railing. I yell—“

Once Gibbs gets to the point where the woman warns her man about the cops, my mouth literally goes dry. By the time he says the kid was thrown over the railing, my heart starts beating faster in sudden realization. And, when he repeats what he yelled at the time, without conscious thought, I say it in concert with him.

“—DiNozzo.”

I’m completely floored by this revelation of Gibbs’s, and he knows it. For once I’m speechless as I rapidly recall the rest of what happened in those next frenzied minutes.

When Gibbs called my name out, I yelled for him to go after the shooter. Taking a brief moment to catch my breath, I then get up and start running down a side street hoping to get ahead of the suspect and cut off his escape route.

I remember hearing the perp threaten to shoot the pretty female bystander, and I could tell from Gibbs’s expression that he couldn’t get a clear shot. Then, everything just seemed to happen at once, and I’m shooting our witness, now suspect, dead before he can kill Gibbs.

Finally, my mouth reconnects to my brain, and I ask, “You mean—?”

“Yep.”

“Wow,” I utter, awed by what I’ve just heard.

Gibbs dips his head in acknowledgement, smiling slightly and looking equally awed. We lock eyes and I can feel a stronger bond being forged between us.

Boss breaks up the serious moment by deadpanning, “That’s when I stopped believing in coincidences.”

I can’t help the big grin that erupts on my face because of his comment, wondering if that really was the story behind Rule 39. I’d figured out long ago that Gibbs’s Rules were created out of order, that there wasn't yet one for every number.

We lapse into a comfortable silence. I’m still in shock over the story I’d just heard. If Gibbs hadn’t let me come with him that day, then he would’ve died, and I’d probably still be a cop somewhere. I would’ve missed out on the best partner I’ve ever had.

His dream brought us together as partners, and mine made sure we could stay partners for a long time to come.

From above, we can hear Jackson yelling for us. As Gibbs helps me back upstairs, he moves his helping hand from my elbow and settles it on the back of my neck before squeezing it affectionately.

As we ascend the last few steps, he quietly expresses out loud what I’d basically just thought only moments ago, “Guess we’re stuck with each other.”

I lean a little into him and smiling slightly reply, “Guess so.”

ooooooo

**_The End._ **

**ooooooo**

Chapter notes:

\--This story was originally written and posted several months before we found out how Tony and Gibbs actually met in episode 8.22 Baltimore, which originally aired 3 May 2011 in the U.S.

\--I borrowed the scenario of Gibbs's dream from another TV show. Anyone want to take a guess which one?

\--Rule 39: There is no such thing as a coincidence.

**Author's Note:**

> One chapter will be posted per day, except for on Saturdays. 
> 
> I wrote and posted this back in 2011 on FanFiction.net as a birthday gift for a friend (based on her prompts). I’m only now getting around to putting it on this site with some editing and revisions. 
> 
> Many thanks to Celticgal1041 for proofing. All remaining mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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